


A Game for Two

by LivelyColorfulWorld



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Eventual Romance, M/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Some Events Not Tagged, mature themes, yes there's both
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivelyColorfulWorld/pseuds/LivelyColorfulWorld
Summary: It isn’t his fault.It isn’t his fault that a mere two days after Renjun Huang arrives at Northmist Academy on a scholarship, a student in his grade is found dead in one of the many corridors snaking through the antique school. There’s no weapon found, no fingerprints, nothing.It isn’t his fault, but the rest of the student body doesn’t seem to think so. And they’ll stop at nothing until he’s thrown out of Northmist.It isn’t his fault, and Renjun won’t rest until he finds the true culprit. Even if it means losing himself in the process.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Undisclosed, Undisclosed Relationship(s)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 48





	1. Thresholds

**Author's Note:**

> please read through all of this because it's quite important so stick w me for a second:
> 
> watch the tags please!!! they might change, and please keep in mind that some events aren’t tagged!!! i’ll try to leave tws in the notes but please be wary of this. this is a mystery fic; i cannot tag everything or it would ruin the suspense. 
> 
> watch the rating as well. right now pls scroll back up and look at the warnings if you forgot to earlier<3
> 
> i think those are the main two points. feel free to try and figure everything out alongside renjun, and i really, truly hope you enjoy this rollercoaster of a fic. i put a lot of love into it<33
> 
> without further ado, let's play:]

Renjun knows that the world comes in pairs.

Sometimes it’s obvious: eyes, hands, feet. Even the heart that's threatening to beat out of his chest is made up of two atriums and two ventricles, two parts of the same whole. 

Sometimes it’s not: he's been alive for two decades, two pairs of ten years that fit snugly in the pocket of his tan coat. When he packed his bags for Northmist Academy, he noticed they only had two left suitcases left in the cramped closet of his family’s home.

But Renjun also knows that while the world comes in pairs, it isn’t always that way for himself.

He’s the only boy among three sisters, awkwardly sandwiched in the middle. His left eye is weaker than his right eye, and that leaves him unbalanced on his feet and constantly relying on corrective glasses. 

And, most notably, he’s the third scholarship student at Northmist Academy when there are usually two, living alone while every other room is shared between housemates. 

Offering an additional scholarship was a publicity stunt of sorts: Northmist’s way of celebrating their 500th anniversary. They promised full coverage of all classes, boarding, and other supplies. It was exactly what Renjun needed; as soon as he saw the advertisement for any boy aged 18-22 to apply, he had taken the opportunity without a second thought. He’d always considered Northmist for his college education, but originally, the tuition amount had quickly turned Renjun away from the mere idea of applying. 

With the full ride they provided, though? Renjun knew it would be more than enough.

The process of applying itself had been grueling but expected for an institution of Northmist’s caliber. He had taken test after test, filled out papers until his hand went numb, but it all paid off as soon as the crisp white envelope arrived at his house, one month after the term officially began. He left for Northmist the day after.

Now, it’s been two days since he first arrived. He's not yet due to begin attending classes, since the administration wanted to give Renjun adequate time to settle into his new routine. It hasn’t been hard, though; discipline has always come naturally to Renjun. Everything he’s required to do for the day is laid out on a color-coded schedule, placed on his desk right beside the pile of books he has to read in the next few hours. Enrolling a month late has placed him at a significant disadvantage to everyone else, but he's here now, and there's nothing left to do besides work to catch up with all of his classes.

Unlike the beaten-down, outdated textbooks offered at his town’s libraries, the textbooks Northmist supplied him with are the latest versions, pages pristine. It seemed as if they had bought a new textbook for each attending student. 

Each book would’ve been several hundred dollars, and considering the number of classes he’s taking this year, the total cost would’ve made a significant dent in his bank account. The fact that Northmist can pay for supplies of such quality is unbelievable to Renjun.

But perhaps that’s just one of the benefits of attending a school swarming with the filthy rich. 

The tuition price is only the start: there are parents dedicating significant endowments to the school while sending their spoiled children there, and it’s all topped off by a headmaster renowned throughout the nation for his sudden skyrocketing net worth ten years prior.

The wealth disparity throughout the school creates a dangerous opportunity for cliques to form, and Renjun isn’t blind to it all—he’s seen the reviews, alumni and drop-outs alike warning prospective students about the ‘culture’ of the rich, the same word appearing over and over: _powerful._

Whether it’s true or just an exaggeration, Renjun won’t get wrapped up in whatever mess that might follow. He had vowed it to himself as he stepped off of the plane and into the awaiting black taxi, tinted windows obscuring the road as it tapered off into dirt and woods. 

He has one goal in mind, the same goal he’s been working towards for over a decade, and he’s not about to be stopped by a bunch of wealthy people who “can’t see past their own asses” as one of the reviews put it.

So far, it hasn’t been as awful as people warned. Sure, no one’s actively sought Renjun out to befriend him, but it isn’t like Renjun cares, either. He wants to keep to himself, away from any potential distractions. It’s a straightforward plan: come in, earn his degree, and leave. 

He glances down at his phone, half-expecting to see a text from his father or even his youngest sister. Ever since she got a phone for her birthday a few months ago, she would excitedly text Renjun with a wide (and slightly frightening) array of emojis, even when they were in the same room. But all he sees is a blinking _no service_ on the top right corner of his cracked screen. It's been this way since he arrived at Northmist, communication practically cut off from the outside world. One of the downfalls of attending such a self-contained school.

Renjun tosses his phone onto his bed and sighs. There are storm clouds gathering outside his window, casting a dismal mood over the entire room. He's pretty sure this was originally some kind of extra study room, cleared out when the school announced that they would be accepting one more student than usual.

Really, he usually wouldn't mind having a room to himself. He's been dying to have his own room since he was eight. There's just something so odd, so _unsettling_ about having this much space but not having anything to fill it up with. No random boy band posters, beds shoved against the wall, or even the occasional lipstick tube for him to accidentally step on. He could’ve brought some decorations to remind him of home, but that would’ve taken up too much space, and Renjun has never been the wasteful type.

So now it’s just him in his room, the bare walls staring back at him. The only furniture is one bed pushed against the right wall, a desk against the left, and a wardrobe haphazardly placed in a corner, the back panel not even meeting the wall. The icy granite floor makes his toes curl, and he surveys the single bed with something akin to disgust.

The world doesn’t come in pairs for Renjun, but sometimes he wishes it did.

—

The sky is pitch-black when Renjun finally closes his last textbook, his neat cursive lining the pages of his notebook. His hand is cramping from clutching his pen for so long, and he stretches out his arms. Standing up, he bends over to pick up his scattered textbooks so he can leave them stacked on a single pile for easy access the next day. But they're thick, and his arms strain from the effort of picking up four at a time. He ends up resorting to carrying them in groups of two to pile onto the corner of his desk.

He's nearly done with work for the day, with not much left to do besides prepare his bag for classes and maybe curl up with his favorite book, one of the few possessions he had brought with him to Northmist. 

Renjun eyes the blazer draped on his bedpost before turning away, resolutely tugging his sweater down. The sweater combined with his coat helps combat the frigid air swirling around the room, caused by the storm that had begun an hour or two earlier.

He drums his fingernails against his desk, in sync with the falling rain as it patters against the single window of his room. Renjun watches in dismay as droplets sneak past the cracks and pool onto the floor. The building is old, and although Rook House had been renovated about 50 years prior, it's still not free from the unfortunate, rather dubious architectural details, like faulty windows. He can only imagine what type of mess the rain would make in the older parts of the building.

After digging out a towel from his wooden wardrobe, Renjun lays it down onto the rapidly-forming puddle beneath the window, hoping it'll make do until he can figure out a better way to mitigate such a glaring issue.

His legs ache from sitting down for so long, so with a gentle twist of his doorknob, he slips out of his room and into the short hallway leading to the common room. Everyone’s still in class, so he has Rook House all to himself. Renjun hasn’t had much of a chance to wander around and take in his surroundings; he rarely leaves his room besides for his meals in the dining hall. 

Two plush armchairs sit to the side of the fire, worn red velvet stretched over their frames, brass detailing snaking around the legs and embroidering the armrests. 

Towards the back of the room, there are a few small tables. Stacked underneath them are chipped wooden casings that hold several types of games, though Renjun hasn’t bothered to look through the assortment. He’s never been interested in games, seeing them as a waste of time with nothing to be gained.

The fire crackles from the mantel and Renjun jumps, whirling around to face the orange flames. He casts a quick look up at the cherry wood mantel, brass knobs adorning each end, the right one shiny and the left one tarnished. Slowly, he takes a step towards the fire, and then another, uncertainty giving way to curiosity.

Spilt dominoes litter the floor in front of the fireplace. They would be so easy to toss into the flame, watch them go up in smoke, but Renjun doesn't have any real reason to act on such a thought. So he finally turns away and returns to his room, wondering who would bother to spill so many dominoes but not clean them up.

As he settles in his chair and pulls his tattered copy of Great Expectations out of his bag, there’s a sudden screeching noise coming from somewhere in the House, high-pitched and grating, quickly followed by a thump. Renjun sighs. Of course this place has bats. He can’t catch a break, but what else does he expect from a place like this?

Prestige comes from age for institutions, although it’s not always the same with people; with families, prestige can be earned, can be built, can be _taken_ by climbing the rungs of the ladder until you’re towering above everyone else, always looking straight down and never casting a second glance at the steps in between. Renjun’s heard of it, the gossip of elite families littering newspaper headlines that he never bothered to read. He’s heard of it all, through whispers and news flashes crackling through his family’s old radio, telling tales of people who reached the top; a million dollars earned here, a billion-dollar company there. 

Sometimes it’s still difficult knowing he’s the reason his family is at the bottom. 

Renjun wraps his tan coat tighter around himself. The dreary atmosphere does nothing for his mood, so he loses himself in Pip's story, thumbing through the pages with the eagerness of someone reading the novel for the first time. 

Three chapters in, he hears footsteps, and not the ones of a straggler or two who are skipping class or have forgotten something. 

It’s past four p.m., according to the small clock ticking away on the corner of his desk. There’s at least another hour until his housemates are due to return from their last classes, and two hours after that until everyone trickles in from the dining hall.

So there’s no reason for the heavy door to Rook House to be swinging open at this time, the sound of clambering students filling the entryway. It doesn’t sound like the usual chatter, which is relatively loud with triumphant shouts and incessant complaints about classes. It’s quieter, more subdued in a way that Renjun’s never heard before. He slowly closes his book, careful to leave a strip of paper to bookmark his page, and turns towards his door, trying to catch the tail ends of the conversations filtering into the common area.

“—avoid competition—”

“—how else would he keep it?”

“Where did it even happen?”

“It’s horrible, really.”

The words become clearer as Renjun approaches his door, pressing an ear against the cherry wood. He isn’t sure why he’s suddenly scared of leaving his room, but the steadily-crescendoing footsteps from outside, accompanied by hushed gossip, all layer together in a sickening symphony of dread that pools deep in Renjun’s stomach. 

He hears the slamming of doors, but it doesn’t sound like anyone is returning to their rooms. There are sniffles among the hushed chatter, and Renjun swallows thickly, unsure of what’s happening beyond his wooden barrier.

He's curious, but he doesn't know if this is his place to pry. He still feels like an outsider in more ways than one, and confining himself to his room is the safest option. Even if he tries to mingle with the rest of the students in Northmist, he’ll likely be ostracized because, quite frankly, he doesn't fit into a place like this.

Yet, there's something that's pulling him towards the common room, towards where he can hopefully figure out what's going on and satiate his curiosity.

Finally giving in, he slowly creaks his door open, and when he doesn't see anything too abnormal, he steps out into the hallway, sinking his feet into the hardwood flooring. He creeps into the common room, careful not to make any noise, but everyone seems to notice him anyway, their eyes drawn to him like a magnet as they slink back. It's terrifying, as Renjun surveys the room and sees a wide array of gazes directed towards him, ranging from despair to blatant fury. He's done nothing but stay in his room all day, yet somehow he's on the receiving end of such intense, strange reactions.

So with nothing else to do, Renjun stands there, staring at the left brass knob of the fireplace mantel as if it'll whisper an explanation as to why everyone's suddenly so interested in him. He doesn't want to seem intimidated, so he straightens his back, leveling his gaze to the knob, and waits until he deems it safe to leave without causing a ruckus or any more anger.

Suddenly, a figure blocks his view, dressed in all black. He’s alone, and no one casts him a second look, too preoccupied in their own conversations. He's clutching something in his hands, but before Renjun can look at it any closer to make out what it is, he tosses it into the fireplace. The fire roars for just a second before it slowly dies down, crackling as it burns away at the remnants of the object. The figure remains there for just another second before turning towards the door, shouldering his way past everyone coming in with his head ducked.

Renjun turns to get a better look at the group filtering through the entrance. Unlike everyone else around them, they're all standing tall, heads raised high as if it's second nature. They walk into the common room, composed and unflinching.

A boy stands at the front of the group, soft black hair falling on his forehead but his eyes piercing, in a way that Renjun has never seen on anyone but the headmaster when Renjun met him on his first day.

Perhaps it’s a sign of authority—when you’re standing in power, the world sharpens your gaze to a point, until the tip can prick one’s skin and make them bleed.

He breaks away and strolls through the room, as if surveying everyone's reactions, picking apart every person in his line of sight. His face remains expressionless all throughout it, waiting for something that Renjun can't quite figure out.

And then, he stops in front of Renjun. He stares at Renjun in silence for a moment. Renjun stares back.

A yellow pin glints on the left lapel of his blazer, though Renjun can’t seem to make out the shape. The boy tilts his head at Renjun, the barest of smiles twitching on his lips as he finally asks, “Why did you kill him?”

  
  



	2. Heed the Signs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi hello!!  
> things are starting to pick up!! very excited to share this<3

“Sorry, who? Who are you even talking about?” Renjun crosses his arms over his chest. The room is silent, save for the sizzling flames dancing in the fireplace.

“He was a good kid, you know,” the boy says, easily gliding over Renjun’s question. “On a scholarship, just like you.” With an arched eyebrow, he lets the words and all of their implications sink in. Renjun takes a step forward, but it only seems to amuse the boy. He can finally make out the pin on the boy’s lapel: a yellow marigold, glinting almost mockingly under the light of the nearby lamps.

Renjun balls his hands into fists, and there’s something simmering in his stomach, dangerous and hot, unlike the controlled fire underneath the mantle. “I don’t know who this person is or what even happened, I’ve been—”

“Jisung Park.” The boy sizes Renjun up before taking a step closer, unfazed. “Though I’m sure you recognize that name.”

“No, I don’t,” Renjun snaps. 

“Jisung Park,” the boy repeats. “Found dead in the middle of last period, and _you’re_ nowhere to be seen.”

“Look”—Renjun swallows thickly, trying to quell the flames licking their way up his throat—“I’m honestly really sorry for your loss. But I’ve been here all day. Whatever you’re trying to get at is nonsense.” 

“Can anyone confirm this?” The boy’s gaze sweeps the room before settling on Renjun again. He tuts. “No one. It’s really a shame, Renjun. There are punishments for liars, you know. It’d be sad to lose your spot here because you can’t tell the truth, don’t you think?”

Renjun laughs and it’s bitter, sharp, almost foreign to his own ears. “You literally don’t have any evidence!”

“Oh trust me, we’ll find some,” the boy drawls. “But wouldn’t it be easier to just admit it?”

“I don’t—” Renjun grits his teeth, his vision tinted a nasty red. “I have nothing to confess.”

“Something could be arranged if you confess, even if it was just an accident,” the boy continues calmly. 

“I didn’t do _anything._ ”

“I know you want to stay here, Renjun. Not confessing will only”—the boy purses his lips—“ _complicate_ things for you.

“I’m not allowing myself to be framed for _murder_ ,” Renjun spits. “Do you really think I could stay here if I march up to the headmaster and tell him I supposedly murdered someone? Are you _crazy_?”

“Things could be arranged,” the boy says again. 

“I have no need for them to be. There’s nothing to be discussed here.”

The boy cocks a brow, clearly entertained by Renjun’s adamant denial. He steps back, and Renjun feels like he can breathe properly again. The boy simply shrugs and walks away. “Well, you know where to find me whenever you change your mind.”

“I don’t even know your name!” Renjun bursts out, exasperation finally exploding into a fiery rush. His vision refocuses in increments, though it never quite sharpens like before—blurry around the edges as he digs his nails into his palm. 

The boy’s hand is resting on the doorknob when he turns around to face Renjun. He smiles, and somehow, it sends a chill down Renjun’s spine. “I’m Donghyuck. And trust me, you won’t forget it.”

When he slips into his room, the group he had arrived with disperses, disappearing into their own rooms with so much nonchalance that it makes the rest of their housemates look dramatic. 

Renjun shivers; it’s as if Donghyuck had sucked out all of the warmth in the room as soon as he left. He thrusts his hands into the pockets of his tan coat and stalks off back to his room, pretending not to feel the accusatory stares on his retreating back.

—

The quiet conversations and muffled sobs continue well into the night, past the ten p.m. curfew when students should be vacating the common room and returning to their own rooms. No one makes a fuss about the curfew, though, not even the teacher that stops by to gently remind them of it. Renjun tosses and turns in his cramped bed, and tries to remember what it’s like to mourn. It’s different when it’s for someone you’ve never met. 

The thoughts mingle with reminders that his dreams for the future are already fraying at the seams, not many options in sight. The weight of helplessness is a familiar one, pulling Renjun into an uneasy sleep that night.

They have the next day off as if the school thinks one day will be enough, and then everything will turn back to normal, like clockwork. Renjun stays in his room for the majority of it, staring at the blank, white, walls. A bitter taste lingers on his tongue, even after eating his meals for the day. 

The dining hall that evening is quiet, hushed conversation filling the room. Halfway through the meal, Headmaster Lee walks to the front of the hall, eliciting an uneasy silence.

He clears his throat. “As all you know by now, one of our students tragically passed away two days ago.”

Murmuring. Renjun doesn’t miss the glances in his direction, but he doesn’t dignify them with a physical reaction. 

“Jisung Park was a bright young man, and we are as heartbroken as you all are at his loss. We are still investigating his manner of death, but for now, please keep his family in your thoughts. I can assure you that the school is safe; there were no external factors that contributed to Mr. Park’s tragic passing.”

Headmaster Lee nods at them before sitting down in his place at the faculty table, and the conversations resume. Renjun drums his fingers against the rim of his empty plate, contenting himself with whatever melodies he can think of.

No one lowers their voice when Renjun walks past, returning to Rook House. They let him hear their poison-tinted words, malice seeping into every spat “this couldn’t have been an accident” and “he shouldn’t be here,” as if the surmounting accusations will be enough to leave Renjun writhing on the ground, lips blue. Renjun’s read enough to know that poison isn’t the most effective way to kill.

But it’s still sickening, and Renjun never tries to look them in the eyes, never confronts them, because he knows it’ll make the fire bubbling dormant in his gut resurface. He doesn’t let a single word tumble past his lips because he knows no matter what he says, it’ll be used against him. 

It’s so easy to point fingers in the face of uncertainty. It’s a lesson Renjun has learned over and over, one where he has been both the teacher and pupil. And Renjun’s learned just as well that there are some battles not worth fighting, and this would normally be one of them.

But then he hears people promising to find evidence to show the headmaster. It’s evidence that shouldn’t even exist, but Donghyuck had said with such conviction that he would find it, so Renjun isn’t really sure anymore. If they succeed, toting enough proof to get Renjun expelled, it would drive a perfectly-placed obstacle between Renjun and his dream, his goal, his way of compensating for everything he’s done.

So he’s stuck. Literally and figuratively stuck, sitting in his room and tapping the end of his pen against his desk until the wood bleeds chippings all over the once-smooth surface. 

The authorities ruled Jisung’s death an accident. Renjun has picked up on that much from what he’s overheard, voices filled with incredulity as his housemates spread the information amongst themselves. He doesn’t bother directly asking anyone else in the house for the details, because he knows all he’ll get are withering glares and snide remarks. 

So he waits it out until classes resume the next day, when he can ask one of his teachers. He’s met them all before, when he first arrived, and they had greeted him with cordial smiles and similar insistences that they were thrilled to have him join their classes.

It seems like a good plan initially, but it quickly falls apart. His teachers are all wary as they shake their heads, apologizing meekly that they can’t say anything, as it’s a confidential manner. It doesn’t seem all that confidential to Renjun if his own housemates know information about what happened to Jisung, but he doesn’t pry, instead thanking them politely before scurrying to his next class. 

After lunch, he hears an unfamiliar voice ringing out from near the Headmaster’s Office. It’s ten minutes until Latin, which is in the nearby hallways, so Renjun figures that stopping for a moment won’t hurt.

Renjun drops his bag onto the ground and pokes his head out from behind the corner of an intersecting hallway, peering at the two figures standing outside of the office door. Upon closer inspection, Renjun recognizes the one on the right as Headmaster Lee, and the one on the right as some sort of officer, his khaki shirt a sharp contrast to Headmaster Lee’s pristine navy suit.

“—will only take a minute, it’s quite alright.”

Headmaster Lee nods at whatever the officer said, eyeing the manila folder in his hands.

“Blunt head force trauma,” the officer explains with a stoic expression, handing Headmaster Lee the folder. “He must’ve slipped and hit his head against the floor.”

Headmaster Lee flips through the folder, frowning. He then snaps it closed, and looks back up at the officer. “Thank you for being so prompt with the autopsy results. I’ll be sure to inform his family.” With a nod, he turns on his heel and disappears into his office.

The officer lingers at the door before giving a perfunctory glance behind him, close to where Renjun’s peeking out from around the corner. Renjun flattens his back against the wall and heaves a breath, his heart ramming against his ribcage. 

There’s the click of shoes against the ground, and Renjun watches out of his peripheral as the officer disappears through the looming main doors of Northmist. 

Not sparing another second, Renjun snatches his bag and sprints away.

— 

There’s a one hour break between Renjun’s last class and dinner, plenty of time to study or finish homework. Originally, while making his schedule, he had planned to spend the time in his room, but now his presence never goes unnoticed, even if he’s just passing through the common room.

Renjun doesn’t have the energy to deal with his housemates, so after emerging from his literature class, he immediately turns to ascend one of the two grand main staircases so he can slip into the library and stay there until dinner. 

He isn’t in a rush, so once he reaches the second floor, he aimlessly wanders a bit around the area, taking in the paintings adorning the walls. It’s all rather lavish, accentuated by the grand architecture of the hallways. There’s an especially large portrait opposite to where the top of the staircase meets solid ground, Renjun pads around the glass barrier sectioning off the staircase from the rest of the floor to get a closer look.

It’s a portrait of a man. His hair is thinning and there are deep-set wrinkles on his forehead, but a smile tugs on his lips, almost playfully, one side higher than the other. A black wooden king chess piece is perched in his left hand, his right resting on his knee. The canvas itself is honestly falling apart, based on the way the edges are curling in the gold frame, and Renjun almost wants to smooth it down. But Renjun doesn’t want to risk setting off an alarm, so he contents himself with observing the subject of the painting itself.

Art has always been something of interest to Renjun, since he was six or seven and his mother would bring him to museums displaying paintings of all kinds. He hasn’t been to one in ages, so it’s almost cathartic to attend a school full of the art he’d always loved. 

There’s a wooden plaque beneath the portrait, the words 'Leighn Northmist' emblazoned in gold print. The founder of the school, who had spearheaded construction and served as the first headmaster. Inscribed underneath it is the school motto: 'Duas Vias, Ut Nihil.' Two roads to anything. A rather optimistic motto, if you ask Renjun. 

He casts one final look up at the painting before hurrying away to the library. 

As soon as he steps through the entryway of the library, he's overwhelmed by the towering bookshelves filling the room. The sheer amount is breathtaking, nothing like the dingy library back in his hometown. Renjun glances around and sees that the tables towards the front are already occupied, so if he wants to sit and study for a bit, he'll have to scour through the back for a seat.

He’s about to begin his trek towards the rearmost corner when he hears someone loudly clear their throat. 

“Young man, have you signed in?” a voice calls out. Renjun turns around to see the librarian peering at him from behind her desk. She points an uncapped pen at a leatherbound book on a desk by the entrance that Renjun had breezed past on accident. “We need all students to sign in and out of the library so we can keep track of everyone.”

Renjun hastily apologizes before shuffling over to the book, flipping through until he finds the page for the current date, the white paper already half-filled. He checks his phone for the time and takes the pen lying in the gutter of the book. 

_Renjun Huang, junior, 5:12 P.M._ he writes in neat cursive, beside the date. He places the pen back where it was and nods at the librarian before striding away. 

After passing by countless shelves, he reaches the end of the corridor, where it’s considerably quieter. Pressed against the back wall are a few small glass display cases, trinkets of all assortments sealed underneath them. A rusted hammer, a marble chessboard, and a yellowed deck of cards. A sheathed dagger is mounted between two display cases, silver and rubies adorning the hilt. It’s beautiful, but Renjun wouldn’t dare touch it, instead admiring the polished rubies with a curious eye. 

He’s startled out of his reverie when he sees his own reflection in the glass case of the chessboard. He blinks, then straightens his back and continues his search for an empty table. 

“He wasn’t like the others, and you _know_ that,” someone huffs, just a bit too loudly. Renjun’s head swerves in the direction of the sound, pinpointing a table half-concealed behind a shelf. Tightening his hold on his backpack, Renjun ducks into the aisle and peeks out from between two books, the leather bindings pressing uncomfortably against his face. There are people passing by behind him, but Renjun pays them no mind, focusing on what he can see through the slim gap.

Donghyuck’s sitting at the table next to another boy, who wears a buttoned blazer. His hair is tousled, and it’s only worsened by the way he runs a hand through it. He chews on the end of a pencil as he studies Donghyuck. 

“I think we made a mistake.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. "You’re worrying too much.”

“We didn’t choose—”

Donghyuck silences him with a glare. His eyes dart towards the surrounding bookshelves, including the one Renjun's hiding behind, but he quickly returns his attention to the boy next to him.

“He had to have done it. There wouldn’t have been any other way for him to keep his scholarship. It’ll be _fine_ ,” Donghyuck says firmly, not leaving any room for further argument. 

Renjun clenches the bookshelf tighter. It’s as if Donghyuck actually believes himself. 

The other boy sighs and stands, gathering his belongings from the table in his hands. 

“You brought it?” Donghyuck asks with a frown, eyes flitting down to something in the boy’s arms, stacked on top of a textbook.

He cradles the object closer to his chest. “Yeah, on accident. I need to go finish up—”

Donghyuck cuts him off with a wave. “I’ll see you later then.” He turns back to his notebook, biting on his lip as he highlights something, and the other boy spins on his heel and disappears between the bookshelves.

“You can come out now,” he suddenly calls out, voice lilting, and Renjun stiffens. He waits with bated breath, refusing to move from his spot behind the bookshelf. Donghyuck could be talking about anything, talking _to_ anyone. Not necessarily him.

The silence crescendos, Renjun tuning out the footsteps behind him as he continues to observe Donghyuck highlight another few words on the page he has open.

Donghyuck _tsk_ s, setting down his highlighter as he languidly stretches out his back, head arched back.

He then looks down and meets Renjun’s gaze dead-on. A knowing smile crawls onto his lips, and Renjun’s heart jumps in his chest, blood running cold. A part of him knows he should turn away, not get wrapped up in whatever Donghyuck’s trying to instigate, but he’s frozen under Donghyuck’s predatory gaze.

Finally, Donghyuck quirks a brow. “You’re not subtle at all. Honestly, murder _and_ eavesdropping? Not a good start to your first week of school.”

That breaks Renjun out of his stupor, and he scrambles out of the aisle and towards Donghyuck's table. He plants his hands down on the wooden surface and narrows his eyes at Donghyuck. “I didn’t kill _anyone_ ,” Renjun hisses. “I don’t need to _kill_ anyone to keep a goddamn scholarship.”

“How else were you planning to keep it? You didn’t seriously think they would keep you here for longer than a year on a full ride?” Donghyuck laughs. “You really don’t know how things work around here, do you?”

“And you do?”

“You were nothing more than a publicity stunt for us,” Donghyuck continues. “But now— _now_ you get to keep your spot because it would be too much of a bother to find someone else.”

Renjun fixes him with a glare, incredulous. “So how do you know every little thing about this place?” 

“Oh, Renjun,” Donghyuck says, leaning back in his chair, “I practically own this place.”

“Bullshit,” Renjun spits. “You’re just some entitled asshole. Grow up.”

Donghyuck clicks his tongue. “Surely you did your research before applying.” His eyes are steely, vicious. “Does the name Donghyuck Lee not ring a bell?”

Renjun feels a flicker of recognition at Donghyuck's full name. He’s seen the name while perusing through the pages and articles written about Northmist and the headmaster.

“Lee,” Renjun mutters sourly. “Donghyuck Lee. You’re Headmaster Lee’s son.”

“I am.” Donghyuck looks much too smug, arms crossed over his chest and his coy smile never faltering. “So, Renjun, riddle me this: no matter what you say, why would anyone ever believe _you_ over me?” 

The self-awareness is infuriating; he knows he’s above Renjun. Renjun despises it.

“I’ll find a way. I’ll make them.”

“Oh, Renjun,” Donghyuck says as he slowly shakes his head. “You won’t be able to make anyone do anything here.” Without breaking eye contact, he jabs a finger towards a group of people loitering to the right of them, and Renjun watches as they exchange whispers while glancing at him. “You can stay here, though. My offer from earlier still stands.”

“I’ll pass,” Renjun grits out. 

And then, there’s a moment of clarity, so startling that Renjun leans further over the table, searching Donghyuck’s features. “Why are you so insistent that I killed someone when it’ll just take more work to prove it?”

If Renjun had hoped the question would catch Donghyuck off guard, it only does the opposite; Donghyuck’s smile widens. “Why indeed.” 

“Did you do it? Did you murder him?” Renjun presses, unrelenting. “Is that what this is? Should _I_ be the one running to the headmaster’s office right now?”

“Let me remind you again: _you_ can’t do anything,” Donghyuck says. He pinches a black pen between his fingers, observing it for a moment. “Do you really think you can flip this on me? There’s much more evidence against you than me. Don’t play this game, Renjun. You won’t win.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Accidents happen all the time, Renjun.” Donghyuck sets the pen down and lets his fingers rest on the barrel. “But I must say: sometimes you slip”—he rolls the pen backwards—“and sometimes you’re pushed”—he flicks the pen towards Renjun, and it collides with his hands. Donghyuck raises his eyebrows. “I think you know which of the two happened.”

“I don’t,” Renjun says, the words clipped at the edges. “But it seems like you do.”

It’s futile to argue with Donghyuck further, so with one final scowl, Renjun stalks to the other side of the room, where there’s an empty table tucked away behind the biography section. He drops his backpack onto the floor and slumps into a chair, burying his head in his hands. There’s already a headache building behind his eyes, and he rubs his temples in an ill-fated attempt to dispel it.

With a sigh, he reaches down and grabs his anatomy textbook from his bag, opening it to the assigned chapter. He’s able to focus well enough, the thoughts of Donghyuck and the current situation quickly replaced by the names of different tissue types throughout the body.

Knowledge has always offered a special sort of distraction from the outside world. Information is easy to digest, strung together between subjects as it paints a bigger picture of the world. The more you understand the world, the easier it becomes to live in it. 

“For what it’s worth, I believe you,” a boy says as he slides into the seat next to Renjun. Renjun startles, peering at the boy apprehensively. It takes him a moment to realize what the boy is talking about, and he bites back a frown. 

“Do you, now,” Renjun replies, returning back to his textbook. He idly flips through a few pages, making note of how many he has left in the chapter. He’s half-expecting the boy to leave, but he doesn’t, instead pulling a book of his own out of his backpack and opening it to a seemingly random page. He scans over architectural diagrams while sneaking glances at Renjun whenever he thinks Renjun isn’t looking. 

Finally, Renjun gives in. "What do you want from me?"

The boy sits up in his chair. "Nothing, honestly! Hi." He holds out his hand. "I'm Yangyang."

"I don't need your pity," Renjun snarks as he eyes Yangyang's outstretched hand. “Did Donghyuck put this up to you? Or are you here to find proof that I _murdered_ someone? Because you’re not going to find anything. Choose someone else to blame.”

He's about to turn back to his book when Yangyang rushes out, "Wait, no, it's nothing like that." Yangyang sighs, rubbing at the nape of his neck. "I mean, I do feel really bad that you're being blamed for something you definitely didn't do, but I—"

"And how do you know that I ‘definitely didn’t’ do it?" Renjun interrupts.

"I saw that you didn't leave your room for classes with the rest of us. I’m guessing you didn’t go to your classes at all. So there's no way you could've gotten to the arithmetic hallway in time to kill Sung."

"Sung?" Renjun frowns. "Jisung?"

Yangyang nods. "He and I were roommates. One of my closest friends." He chews on the inside of his cheek. "I just—god, I miss him," Yangyang admits in a small voice. "But I know he'd hate for someone innocent to be blamed for something like this."

"So do you think he was murdered, then?"

"I'm—I'm not sure." Yangyang leans back in his chair, staring up at the arched ceiling of the library. "It doesn't make sense that he suddenly just—just _died_ , but he _was_ also really clumsy."

"Oh." Renjun frowns. “So, just to be clear, you’re not… associated with Donghyuck.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m not.”

Renjun inspects Yangyang for a moment. “But _why_ are you here? You have no reason to talk to me.”

It’s a bit rude, and Renjun knows that, but he knows he doesn’t owe Yangyang anything. He doesn’t owe _anyone_ at this school anything, so he waits for Yangyang’s answer, who’s clearly searching for the words to say.

“Well, um," Yangyang starts as he thumbs at the corner of a page in his textbook, "I saw you when you were first moving in, and, I don't know, you just seemed really cool. This is the first time I've really seen you outside of your room for more than a few minutes or for meals and I know the circumstances suck but I—yeah.” Yangyang’s ears go slightly red, and he plays with a silver chain around his neck that Renjun hadn’t noticed earlier, tucked underneath the collar of Yangytang’s button-up. When he notices Renjun’s eyes follow the movement, he immediately drops the chain and clasps his hands in his lap.

“I appreciate the sentiments,” Renjun says slowly. “They’re very… nice.”

Yangyang raises a brow. “Nice?” he echoes, and Renjun can feel warmth coloring his cheeks. It’s almost whiplash, going from Donghyuck intently accusing him of murder to Yangyang, someone who actively wanted to befriend him before the events that transpired only a few days ago.

“You’re the first decent person I’ve met in this entire damn school, give me a break.”

Yangyang grins. “Okay, fair. Point is, I believe you. I just—I don’t know, I thought you’d appreciate knowing that not _everyone_ here is against you.”

“I do, honestly,” Renjun says, hoping his sincerity comes across, “and I’m really glad you believe me. But it’s not enough for only _one_ person to believe me—no offense.”

Yangyang shrugs. “None taken. But do you really need everyone to believe you about this? They don’t have any proof.”

“Donghyuck keeps saying he’s going to find some.” Renjun purses his lips, the headache from earlier returning full-force. 

Yangyang’s eyes darken. “Yeah, sounds like him.”

“I don’t even know where he could find anything,” Renjun sighs. The whole ordeal is ridiculous, really. He hasn’t even been attending Northmist for more than a week, yet he’s already been made the enemy of his peers. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his tan coat, the warmth doing little to subdue the lingering anxiety

Yangyang tilts his head at Renjun, brows furrowed, before he quickly schools his expression back to neutral. He waits a beat before replying, “He’s definitely something.” 

“That’s the issue. I barely even know him, but he seems like the type to get what he wants. So if he does magically find some kind of proof, they’re going to throw me out, and”—Renjun chews on his lower lip—“I can't afford that. I need a way to prove it wasn’t me, but I don’t know if even _that_ is enough.”

“Just show that you never left Rook House the entire day. Maybe find a teacher that can vouch for you.”

Renjun’s conversation with Donghyuck from earlier replays in his head, and swallows down the sudden bout of nausea that overtakes him. “I don’t know if anyone’s going to listen. They’re going to blame me until there’s a definite explanation for what happened. I’m the easiest scapegoat. Even if Donghyuck doesn’t seem blameless in this situation.”

Yangyang frowns. “So you think something happened?”

“I can’t be sure. The authorities think it was just an accident. Maybe it was.” Renjun shrugs half-heartedly. “The only way _I’ll_ get off the hook is if I somehow figure out what happened.”

“So, like, full-on investigating what happened?” 

“I don’t really have a choice here.”

“Then I’ll help you,” Yangyang says, the words stumbling together in his hurry to get them out, and he grips the fabric of his trousers. "I would… I need closure. And if there was any foul play, I want to be the first to know." He resolutely nods his head to himself, jaw set.

Renjun stares at him. “I mean—” 

“Please. I know you just met me, but I just want to figure out what happened to Sung. If you’re worried about me getting in the way, I promise I won’t.”

It’s a bit of a risky decision, really. He doesn’t know much about Yangyang, but from what he _does_ know, Yangyang’s trustworthy enough to help.

Plus, all things considered, he’s not really in a position to deny Yangyang anyway, considering he and Jisung had been such good friends. Finding out what happened would mean just as much to Yangyang as it would mean to himself, if not more. 

Renjun softens, shoulders slumping in resignation. 

“I guess—it only makes sense if you can help, so sure, yeah.”

He offers a small smile, and Yangyang’s answering one is blinding. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and two new players enter the field!

**Author's Note:**

> curious, don't you think!  
> comments and any other general thoughts are always appreciated <3
> 
> find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/jisunflwer) & [cc](https://curiouscat.me/jisunflwr)!!


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